


The Worlds We Forge(t)

by estelraca



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-25 22:24:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7549573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/estelraca/pseuds/estelraca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jehan chooses to come back to Earth from the world their Door led them to--a world of Signs and Symbol, Wonder and Wisdom--they find others to stand beside them and face down the monsters in the dark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Worlds We Forge(t)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jolybird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jolybird/gifts).



> This is an AU based off the amazing "Every Heart a Doorway" novella by Seanan McGuire. You shouldn't need to know anything about that to understand this, but I heartily recommend the book. I hope that you enjoy!

_The Worlds We Forge(t)_

Jehan meets them at school, and it is _one_ of the best days of their life, even if it's not _the_ best day. Choosing _a_ best day is just so difficult, when there are so many that have been glorious and terrible and wonderful.

Should the day that Jehan found the door—a lacy, intricately woven thing of dark living wood and shimmering crystal water with points of flame for decoration—count above or below the day they meet the people who understand?

Should the day Jehan comes _back_ , to a family who loves them and a world that _needs_ them, somehow count as less than the day they find the people who will help them shape that world?

Should the day Jehan first noticed the magic—the day they first resonated with the doors, if Madame Fantine's quiet explanations are to be believed—count as more or less than the days when they first noticed Courfeyrac and Combeferre?

They are _all_ best days, all days that have _shaped_ Jehan, and Jehan holds them all precious.

The three of them start school on the same day. In Jehan's world—a world of Signs and Symbols—it would have meant they were going to share something precious and important.

Apparently it means the same on Earth, too.

Jehan tries to pay attention to what the headmaster is saying. It is important to listen to words—words have Power, and even if on Earth it's not _quite_ the same Power as it was behind the door, it is still nothing to be taken lightly. It's hard, though, when Courfeyrac is wriggling in the chair on their left, and Combeferre is sitting absolutely still in the chair at Jehan's right.

Courfeyrac is the one with more energy, more _heat_ , the one that will understand Jehan's love of flame and dance with them in it; Combeferre is the one who catches Jehan's eye first. Not an eyelash twitches on Combeferre's face, his gaze fixed unblinkingly on the headmaster. Only his hand moves, seemingly unattached, copying down every word that the headmaster says in a short-hand that Jehan saw and had burned into their mind in their travels through the Wood of Words on another day that should be called _best_.

"Jehan. Courfeyrac." Valjean's voice is a deep rumble, his gaze traveling from Combeferre to Jehan to Courfeyrac.

Combeferre's fingers move, sketching symbols that mean _them_ , and Jehan's heart leaps up into their throat.

"I know it's hard to focus." Turning a paper over on his desk, Valjean calls Jehan's eyes back to him. "But you need to, at least for a few minutes. This school is going to be your haven, a place for people who have had... experiences like yours."

Courfeyrac throws back his head, his buoyant curls catching the light in red-brown rainbows. "How can there be enough of us for a whole _school_?"

"How could there not be?" Valjean fixes Courfeyrac with his too-direct gaze, and Jehan has to fight to remember to breathe. There is something in this man's eyes that makes it clear he, too, has been through a Door. "There are as many Doors as there are hearts, one theory goes. With the number of people born every year, is it really any wonder there would be enough of us to fill a school?"

It isn't just people, Jehan knows. Creatures can come through the Doors, too—they had their kitten in their arms when they went through, and it has since grown into a fierce, beautiful warrior-queen who wears a red sash around her belly and dons glasses to read. (Jehan didn't bring any of the kittens home, not wanting to see if the magic would work in reverse—if the little ones who chatter so amiably would become fearful, silent things when crossing the Door.) Saying anything would probably be seen as _derailment_ , though, and Jehan doesn't want to have to listen to a lecture _again_ on the proper flow of conversations.

"I know it's been hard for you—coming back, readjusting." Valjean's hands settle palm-down on his desk. "Believe me, I understand. I've gone through three Doors in my lifetime—the first to a terrible world, then one of unimaginable beauty, and then... well. I was very glad to come home, in the end. But you may not be."

"I _chose_ to come home." Jehan struggles to keep their arms and limbs within the confines dictated by the chair, though it makes gesticulating— _Communicating—_ hard. "I wanted to _share_ , to bring there _here_."

"An admirable goal, depending on the world you were in." A nod of Valjean's head, and his eyes flick to the others, but neither of them volunteers any information. "Whether you loved or hated the world your Door took you to; whether you came back on your own or were forced away; you are here now. And this school is here for you. To give you a place to readjust; a place to speak with others who understand that what you're saying is truth. Understand?"

Combeferre speaks, his voice higher in tone than Jehan had expected and packed full of yearning. "We can ask questions? We can make theories? We don't have to pretend that the Doors weren't real?"

"Ask questions, make theories. Search for your Doors; convince others that they should never, ever open a Door." Valjean spreads his hands. "There are only two things I ask of all students. One, bring no harm to yourself or any other here. And two, listen. Be the ears that your fellows need. Any questions?"

Jehan and Courfeyrac shake their heads.

Combeferre opens his mouth, turns his head ninety degrees to look at them—moving it only in the horizontal plane—and reconsiders. "Not right now."

"All right, then. Come with me." Valjean stands, moving slowly, and Jehan wonders exactly how old the headmaster is. "The three of you will be sharing a room. Try very hard not to burn it down."

Jehan follows eagerly, wondering why the headmaster felt the need to give _that_ warning and grinning as they think of possible answers.

XXX

Jehan's roommates are _amazing_.

They build a bonfire in the center of their room their first night.

Courfeyrac starts it. He crawls out of bed sometime after midnight, after tossing and turning, restless words that he doesn't quite say keeping Jehan from sleeping. He pulls the kindling from his luggage, clears a space at the foot of his bed—he had insisted on taking the center bed—and watches the flames lick up, his shoulders relaxing as they do.

"Fire was important on my world." Courfeyrac smiles up at Jehan, seeming not to care that Jehan is staring at him. "There was always a fire for anything important. For building a new residence, creating a new family, going on a trip... they built the biggest fire when they sent me back. A farewell."

Courfeyrac feeds a little scrap of cloth to the fire, and it flares up green.

"Copper?" Combeferre is suddenly sitting at the foot of his bed, his eyes fixed on the flame.

"Compassion." Courfeyrac shrugs. "It's a good color for compassion, don't you think? The color of plants, who give parts of their bodies so everything else can live."

"Hm." Combeferre's sound isn't agreement or disagreement, just an acknowledgment. "Do you have more? Could I study it?"

Courfeyrac frowns. "What do you mean by study it?"

"Look at it. Taste it. Check its magnetic properties. Ask what it is." Combeferre blinks once. "Study it."

A smile breaks across Courfeyrac's face, and he throws back his head and laughs. "I think I like your kind of studying. Sure, I'll let you see what they sent back with me."

Combeferre joins Courfeyrac on the floor, and Jehan follows, grabbing a pair of scissors, an uncomfortable shirt that their parents sent with them, and a pad of colored paper before settling down before the fire.

Jehan feeds the fire while Combeferre and Courfeyrac examine small chips of compassion, courage, conviction and chaos.

"Everything I'd need to see me through. To help make _here_ more like _there_." Courfeyrac stares into the fire, taking some of the pieces of red paper that Jehan has cut into shapes and adding them to the flames. "I came back willingly. To see my parents, and to see if I could help. Could make things better."

"I did the same." Combeferre's voice is still not what Jehan expects, the emotion in it standing in stark contrast to the carefully controlled motions that he uses to move. "I learned how to study—how to examine the world—and then I came back."

A waiting silence, and Jehan pauses, letting the seconds tick by until it is _exactly_ the right moment, until the words _must_ leave their mouth. "Me, too. I learned the Symbols and I learned the Words and I brought them back. Because _every_ world should be beautiful."

"Every world _is_ beautiful." Perhaps it's just that he has been licking Conviction, but Combeferre's voice sounds like the wind of Truth to Jehan's ears. "It's just a matter of figuring out how to show others that it is."

They feed the fire together, Courfeyrac and Jehan crafting shapes—crafting Meaning—while Combeferre uses the flames to find Answers.

When Combeferre tosses a sliver of Contradiction onto the fire, it flares up bright white, triggering an alarm and an unexpected deluge of water from the ceiling.

Jehan is immediately up, spreading their arms out and dancing in the frigid downpour. Courfeyrac blinks up at them for a moment and then joins in with a whoop of laughter.

Combeferre gathers the notebooks he has been writing in together, shielding them from the water with his body, and shoves them under the bed. Once he's done that Jehan grabs one of his hands, Courfeyrac the other, and they spin in a circle until Fantine comes to turn off the sprinklers and move them to a dry room for the night.

XXX

After their first night the three of them are inseparable, and Jehan wouldn't have it any other way.

They don't always understand one another. No one in the school understands any other person all the time, though they usually do better than people _outside_ the school at figuring out where the quirks that drive their classmates come from. Even when they don't understand one another, though, they can thrive on the differences.

When Courfeyrac climbs into Jehan's bed, needing the comfort of touch, it is Symbol to Jehan and Simple for Courfeyrac and that's all right.

When Combeferre decides to search for the ghost said to haunt the roof of the school, it is Academic for him and Adventure for Jehan and there's not much of a clash between the two.

When Courfeyrac and Combeferre kiss over a candle, it is Love and Life and Longing, and Jehan finds themselves sitting very still until Courfeyrac pulls them into a kiss of their own and says this, too, is Simple.

They meet other people—other friends. A third of the children had stumbled unwittingly from worlds they loved, or had been given tasks to complete before they could return; another third had fled from worlds that they paint as black Horrors, pits of Despair and Devilry.

The last third are like the three of them—those who chose to go, to walk through their Doors, and also chose to come back.

The prettiest of those becomes the leader of their group—a young man who seems not _quite_ real, who is somehow Ethereal and Earnest at the same time, Tremendous and Terrifying when he brings his focus to bear on a problem.

"He's not quite human." There is awe in Combeferre's voice as he makes the observation.

Courfeyrac grins. "Oh? What is Enjolras, then?"

"I don't know." Combeferre stands, abrupt, precise movements that place him on a collision course with his new object of curiosity. "But I know how to find out."

Enjolras is a creature of two worlds, it turns out. His world had been Light, had been Love, but it had cast his human father out after his conception, and Enjolras had followed when he was old enough to choose.

He is not the only one of mixed parentage there. Fantine has a daughter, Jehan soon learns, a child by way of the creature that lured her from Earth into Emptiness for a time. Cosette is the girl's name, and as Enjolras takes after his mother, so does Cosette, _usually_ seeming as human as any of the rest of them.

Usually, but not always.

Another boy joins their group, a fierce, brash, energetic man that screams HERE with every move that he makes and YES with every breath that passes his lips. He is learning to speak in words—learning quickly, and Jehan loves nothing more than teaching him—and he gravitates to Cosette as a mosquito does to blood.

Gravitates to her touch, which turns the howls that he looses into something not quite human and pulls the shadow of a wolf-form that he left behind when he crossed his Door again out into the open.

"Probably I shouldn't do that." Bahorel drops down to the ground beside Jehan, enunciating each word clearly through a jaw that clearly wishes it could be muzzle still. "But I like it."

"Why shouldn't you do it?" Jehan tilts their head.

"Because I chose this world." Bahorel picks up a piece of grass, puffing out his cheeks and blowing it dramatically away. "And I don't regret it."

Jehan tilts their head to the side. "Not even a little bit?"

"Well..." A faint smile touches Bahorel's lips. "Not enough to take it back."

(They all miss their worlds. Even those who hated their worlds, who ran from them, clearly miss parts of them—are Unsure, are Confused, are Off-Balance about how this world works. But at least for Jehan, for Combeferre, for Courfeyrac, they can say they _Chose_.)

Another trio joins theirs, Joly and Bossuet and Musichetta, and Jehan revels in the mirroring that it brings, the Comparisons and the Contrasts. Combeferre draws up a list, presents it to Jehan one morning, and Jehan kisses him soundly for the thoughtful gift.

With Bossuet comes a man who didn't choose—who Stumbled his way through his door, and Stumbled his way out. Grantaire is an interesting man, and Jehan can appreciate his skill with twisting and turning words even if he doesn't always appreciate _what_ Grantaire does and says.

Grantaire is capable of Love, fierce and bright—love of his friends in general and Enjolras in particular, and seeing him _show_ that but then _deny_ it, seeing him love but then stifle the Love before it can grow broad and useful, is sometimes infuriating.

They become friends in their own right, though, Jehan trying to help Grantaire as Bossuet helps him, Grantaire being one of the few people who can keep up with Jehan linguistically.

Enjolras brings another person to their group—an orphan who doesn't remember who he was before he found his Door, but who has embraced humanity and Earth with a tenacity and fierceness that makes Jehan glow every time they see it.

Their group stabilizes after that. The _world_ seems to stabilize after that, their personalities and Opinions and Knowledge helping to Balance each of them in a way that Jehan suspects they needed. They earn privileges, going out on the town together, and begin to tinker with ways they can bring their particular skills to bear to effect true Change in the world.

For good or ill, it seems they're not the only ones.

XXX

Jehan is in the infirmary when everything starts.

They had fallen out of a tree, Gravity not being quite as forgiving in this world as it was in the one Jehan loved and left. Instead of understanding that Jehan was chasing a particular rainbow shimmer of light and supporting their weight on their Quest, the branch had broken beneath them, sending them tumbling down to the hard-packed dirt. Thankfully nothing had broken, though the impact had driven all the air from their lungs and left them voiceless and frightened for a brief period of time.

Now Jehan feels much better, though, ready to return to their adventures as soon as Fauchelevent declares that they aren't going to keel over. Not that they can't have fun in the infirmary—there's quite a lot to investigate, strange little skeletons and medical devices hiding in every drawer that Jehan opens—but it's still not the same as a true Adventure.

They almost feel bad about wanting an Adventure when Combeferre and Courfeyrac come charging through the door, Enjolras' mostly-limp body supported by them.

Fauchelevent comes storming into the room. "Jehan, I swear, if you've brought something else down on your Symbol-addled head—"

Jehan shakes their head, staying mute and pointing, knowing better than to steal Attention from the one who needs it.

Fauchelevent moves immediately to Enjolras, scooping him up from Combeferre and Courfeyrac's hold as though he weighed nothing at all. "What happened?"

Courfeyrac is waving his arms about, his fear and frenzy showing in every breath, every gesture. "I don't know! We were talking, out on the commons, and then he just collapsed!"

"Not quite accurate." Combeferre has assumed a loose, attentive stance, and nothing moves but his mouth as he makes his report. (Courfeyrac's world was one of Energy, of Movement, of Motion and Emotion; Combeferre was one of Knowledge, of Learning, of Searching, where every motion was precious and dangerous, where to know that one had not interfered in an experiment is to make no move, take no breath that is not carefully monitored and controlled and accounted for.) "Enjolras began looking pale approximately four mintues and twenty-seven seconds ago. When asked if he felt well, he said that he was strangely tired. Ninety-nine seconds ago, he placed a hand to his chest and said it felt as if something were _pulling_ there. Ninety-five seconds ago, he collapsed and has been minimally responsive since."

"Well, can't fault you Knowledge kids for your reporting skills." Fauchelevent has been examining Enjolras as he listens to Combeferre's words, pulling Enjolras' eyelids up to reveal unfocused sky-blue eyes, gently opening Enjolras' mouth, smelling his breath, feeling his pulse, using a stethoscope to listen to his chest, pressing the tip of his tongue against each of Enjolras' wrists at the pulse-point. (None of them are quite normal here, teacher or student, but they all understand _why_ , they have all pledged to keep away Harm, and that is enough to allow them to coexist. "Kid's stable, at least. You three stay right here; I'm going to go—"

The door to the infirmary swings open again, and Bahorel charges into the room, a still form clutched tight to his chest. His eyes sweep across the room, nostrils flaring wide, and before Jehan realizes that Bahorel is moving he is in front of Fauchelevent, thrusting Cosette's still body into his arms. "Help her."

Fauchelevent curses. Jehan doesn't understand the language—Fauchelevent's Door must have taken him far from Jehan's world, for Jehan to not at least recognize the sounds—but he knows the sound of Fear and Surprise and Desperation in any tongue.

Bahorel's story is much like Combeferre's. He had been talking with Cosette when she suddenly became unduly tired, and minutes later she collapsed in his arms.

Fauchelevent gives Cosette the same exam that he gave Enjolras, then returns to Enjolras side, then darts back to Cosette's, his eyes wide with worry. "Did anyone else seem to be ill? Pass anyone else on the way here? Any of you four feeling poorly?"

Everyone shakes their head.

"Right." Biting down on his bottom lip, Fauchelevent closes his eyes. "I need to go talk to Fantine and the headmaster. Stay here, you four. I'll be back in a few minutes."

The old man disappears, leaving the four of them alone.

Leaving Jehan to say what should be painfully obvious, but sometimes those from other worlds don't quite see the Symbols the way they do. "It's just these two. Because they're only half of this world."

Combeferre somehow seems to become even more still. "How can you be sure?"

"I can't be. But it fits." Jehan stands poised between the two beds, looking down at the pale, empty faces of their friends.

Courfeyrac moves to Jehan's side, puts a hand around their waist and holds them close. "Why would they get sick at the same time, though? Even if being half of this world is dangerous... they've been here for different lengths of time, they're from behind different Doors..."

"We need more information." Combeferre's voice is a quiet whisper, his eyes moving from Enjolras to Cosette—searching for more pieces so that he can solve this puzzle.

Jehan and Courfeyrac move at the same moment—another Symbol, proof if Jehan needed it that they are meant to work together—and gather Combeferre into their huddle. Jehan leans their head against Combeferre's shoulder. "What information do you need?"

Combeferre's eyes are wide, his breathing the shallowest little puffs of air. He doesn't know, and not knowing even how to approach the problem—

"I couldn't settle into my wolf shadow today." Bahorel's words are a low growl as he steps up to place a hand on Cosette's shoulder. "She tried to let me, but it felt... prickly. Uncomfortable. Hot and ill-fitting, which it never has before."

Combeferre's eyes narrow. "You left your Shadow behind your Door, yes?"

"Yeah. He couldn't come with me." Bahorel's hand curls into a fist, his long red-painted nails snagging Cosette's shirt and pulling it tight. "But when she helps me... it's really him. Not _really_ him, not the fully Change like I had when I was through my Door, but it's... it's like being back there. Like she's pulling him through the Door to be with me, at least for a few minutes."

"Half of this world, half of another... pulling something connected to us from beyond the Doors..." Combeferre closes his eyes, and his head tilts just _slightly_ to the right, a sign that he thinks he's on a useful path. "Did anything strange happen with either Enjolras or Cosette over the last few days? Anything they don't usually do?"

"Nothing _too_ strange." Bahorel frowns. "Yesterday Eponine asked us to do a manicure party with her, so we did. Never done that before, but it's a normal person thing here, right?"

"It is." Combeferre moves abruptly to Enjolras' side, lifting Enjolras' hand with economical movements and examining them. "No, not that..." Pulling Enjolras' shoes off, he checks Enjolras' toes before shaking his head. "Not that..." Turning Enjolras' head to the right, he examines Enjolras' hair carefully; apparently unsatisfied, he turns Enjolras' head to the left and freezes. " _There._ Courfeyrac, Jehan, doesn't that look like hair was trimmed away with some kind of sharp object recently?"

Jehan clambers over Enjolras' bed, squeezing their friend's hand as they pass, and peers closely where Combeferre is pointing. "Yes. Blood and hair and bone and nails—"

Combeferre straightens abruptly. "In this world and behind ninety-one percent of known Doors, pieces of a person are seen to have power."

They are Symbols, pure and potent, and only in the most chaotic worlds, where Symbols are laughed at, do they mean nothing. Jehan looks over at Combeferre. "Someone's trying to hurt them. Because they're only half of this world?"

Combeferre thinks for a moment moving his head in a brief negation. "I don't think they're the target."

"It's the walls." Courfeyrac looks at Bahorel, understanding dawning in his eyes. "That's why Bahorel had a hard time feeling his shadow-self despite Cosette. Someone's trying to reinforce the walls... to destroy the Doors?"

For a moment Jehan sits stunned. To destroy the Doors—to lock everyone _here_ , in a world that may or may not fit properly—to keep all the Wonder and the Terror that lurks behind the Doors away _forever—_

Scrambling off the bed, Jehan grabs Courfeyrac by one hand, Combeferre by the other. "We have to stop them."

"Yes." Combeferre doesn't move, somehow staying _still_ with such determination that Jehan's fingers slip off his wrist. "But first we have to find them. Thankfully, if Bahorel's willing, I think I'll be able to manage that."

XXX

They leave before Fauchelevent returns, something that will probably earn them a Lecture when all is said and done.

Given that they are trying to save their friends, Jehan thinks it's a worthwhile trade.

Bahorel moves swiftly, though he changes course on a regular basis, sometimes left, sometimes right, sometimes up, sometimes down. They had taken a handful of tools from the infirmary before stopping by the room that Combeferre, Courfeyrac, and Jehan share to gather up pieces of Conviction and Compassion to add to the mix. Now Bahorel holds an iron rod in each hand, strings of material wrapped around them, a tiny piece of Conviction embedded in a drop of blood on each palm.

"Can you still feel it?" Combeferre's voice drips anxiety as he walks a pace behind Bahorel.

"Stronger than ever." Bahorel's human lips pull back from his teeth, a canine snarl on a human face. "Whatever you did, it's working."

Jehan walks behind Combeferre and to the left, clutching a glass dagger in their left hand. _Truth_ is etched on one side of the blade, blood-red; _Dream_ scrawls down the other side, a glimmering sea-blue. They haven't drawn the blade since they returned to this world. (They are afraid, a little bit, that the Door will have damaged it, made it just a pretty bauble rather than the weapon of a Word-weaver and Dream-diver.)

Courfeyrac walks at their other side, pouches full of the remaining shards he was gifted with at his farewell bonfire hanging from his belt and his shoulders.

They follow Bahorel every upward, having to backtrack when stairs are unavailable. Between the four of them they have explored all of the school grounds over the months, though, and despite how annoying it is, they are never completely stymied in their progress.

Jehan doesn't know exactly what they're going to find when they reach their destination. Someone Evil, they suppose—someone who doesn't understand how important it is that the Doors exist. Someone Selfish, who is willing to use and betray other students. Someone Foolish, doing something the scope of which they don't understand... all of those Jehan would have been prepared for.

A girl crying quietly in front of a small fire, her own blood sketched in complicated runes of rejection and defiance around the flames... _that_ Jehan hadn't been expecting, and it stops all four of the Adventurers in their tracks.

The girl—young woman, really, about the same age that they are—uncurls from her ball in front of the fire, and there is a knife in her hand and a snarl on her face that would do Bahorel proud. "Go away!"

"Eponine." Bahorel drops the iron rods, flexing his hands as thin rivulets of blood trickle down his palms. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing that concerns you." Eponine doesn't move from her place guarding the fire—guarding the Wall, Jehan realizes, a fledgling wall, a sense of Isolation and Loneliness sweeping out from it to separate their world from all others.

"Of _course_ it concerns us." Jehan presses forward, circling around to Bahorel's left, the glass dagger in his hands catching the firelight and glowing blood-red. "It concerns everyone in the school! How can you decide on your own to do something like this?"

"Plus it's making Enjolras and Cosette sick." Courfeyrac's voice is bleeding as he edges forward.

"I didn't—that wasn't supposed to—" Eponine swipes out with the knife as Courfeyrac takes another step forward, driving him and Combeferre back before turning the blade to face Bahorel, her gaze sweeping to Jehan every other second or so. "I don't want to hurt anyone. I just want to make sure _he_ can't come through. I'm trying to _protect_ people, don't you see?"

Combeferre stays utterly still as he speaks. "Protect people by taking away what they want? If you block the Doors, you trap everyone here—including those who want to go back."

"Anyone who wants to go back is _crazy_." Eponine snarls out her response. "Or _worse_ than crazy. Evil, just like him."

"Him who?" Jehan tilts their head, studying the fire, reading the truth of Eponine's intent in the words that she used for her spell. She doesn't want to hurt—she wants to seal, to Separate, to save herself from pain.

Eponine's hand shakes, the metal blade glinting shimmers of rainbows off at odd directions. "My father. I keep hearing him. I know he's going to come through, if I don't stop it, and—"

Bahorel moves with a wolf's swift grace, darting in to grab the knife.

Eponine moves just as fast, lashing out with speed and surety, and blood spatters up, his or hers or both, Jehan can't tell.

Courfeyrac doesn't wait to see how the fight ends. He darts in, unafraid of the fire, and scatters it into smoldering ashes.

It doesn't completely break the spell, though it weakens it. Jehan can see where the blood runes will have to be tweaked or destroyed if they want to stop the spell completely, but he doesn't move to do that yet. "What is your father, Eponine? What does he want?"

Eponine laughs, though it's a harsh, hollow sound. "Human, like all of us, as was my mother. But a _monster_ , one who saw a world of Darkness, of Might, of Subjugation, and decided to make it _his_. If he follows me here—if he brings Montparnasse and the others he's gathered—"

Kneeling down at Eponine's side, Jehan reaches out to touch the blood that has spattered onto the floor. "If anything comes through a Door with intent to do harm, we will defend this world. We chose it; it chose us. We shape it, as it shaped us. But to separate ourselves from _everything_ that lies behind the Doors—to cast off the Beautiful and the Magical and the Wondrous and the Awesome because behind some of the Doors is Danger..."

Eponine is shivering, shaking, her teeth still bared as she shakes her head. "You've never been there. You've never seen. You've never had to face him or anything like him."

"No." Jehan holds out their hands, one bloody, one clean. "But if you would face him, to defend our world and our Doors, then I would happily stand at your side."

"Me, too." Bahorel is busy lapping at a wound on his left forearm, and the bloody grin he gives Eponine is full of fierce determination. "I've faced down my share of rotten alphas in my time."

"I know fire, Eponine." Courfeyrac kneels down at Eponine's side, reaching out to touch Jehan's arm with one hand. "Both the fire in your eyes and the fire you wielded here. I can help you with it. _We_ can help you face him down."

"We stand together." Combeferre kneels down on Eponine's other side, also reaching out to touch Jehan's arm. "And we will win. I'm certain of it, even if I don't have all the data yet."

Eponine stares between the four of them for long, long seconds— _just_ long enough, the proper time to make it Symbol, to make it Binding. Then she places her hands in Jehan's, rising to her feet and reaching out with one bare toe to smudge the circle of runes and allow the Door that has been waiting to show.

It is a twisted, thorny thing, made all of black wood, smelling of rot and the battlefield. Flowers twine around the frame, though, bright white speckles and dark red splashes.

The Door waits for the proper Drama to be accomplished—for Jehan to kiss first Courfeyrac and then Combeferre, for Eponine to bind a length of rag around Bahorel's wounded forearm—and then slowly begins to swing open, plunging them into their next round of Choices.

XXX

It's the first time Jehan has killed a man.

Not that they do it alone. Something like that _cannot_ be done alone, not really. The defense of a world, of a _Way_ , is not something to be done by one person.

Eponine is the one to land the killing blow. She and Courfeyrac together craft fire, which her father laughs and scoffs at until it flares hot and lashes out and sears deep into the man's center, leaving Cruelty to simmer away into nothingness in his eyes.

She is able to strike the blow because Jehan struck first.

Their blade holds. It even strikes true, though Jehan has been woefully lax in their practice routines. While the cruel man taunts Eponine, marching towards her with his sword held high, and Combeferre and Bahorel hold off the ones who try to follow him via desperate swings of the iron rods Bahorel had tossed away before, Jehan slides behind the man and slips the little glass dagger into his back.

It isn't an easy strike. It never is. Truth and Dream do what they are meant to do—show Jehan exactly what it is that the man has done, what he _intended_ to do, and what he will now never do.

Jehan sees Eponine and other children darting away, trying to be Small and Unseen so that Malice cannot find them.

Jehan sees a world of Brutality, a world that welcomed and honed and sharpened the Man into a Monster.

Jehan sees Earth as the man sees it, full of Targets and Travesties, and tears well up to blur their vision.

Tears _keep_ welling up as the death happens, as those who came with the man retreat back through the Door, as Courfeyrac and Eponine seal the passage with fire so that maybe, for a little bit at least, it will not tempt or steal anyone else away.

When finally the task is done, Combeferre comes and places an arm carefully across Jehan's shoulders, every move economical and telegraphed.

Courfeyrac comes and wraps them both in an effusive embrace.

And Eponine goes to summon the headmaster to deal with the charred body at their feet, because none of them can think what else to do with it.

XXX

"You did well." Valjean's voice is tired as he studies them, his frame somehow seeming smaller in the chair it usually fills. "But you didn't _have_ to. You should have come to me as soon as you realized what was happening."

Jehan looks to Combeferre and Courfeyrac, but neither of them seems to want to ask the Question that burns in the air. "Why?"

"Because you're children. Because you're under my protection." Valjean closes his eyes and breathes out a sigh. "Because you shouldn't ever have to face things like what you faced. But I suppose if you were the kind to run for assistance, you wouldn't be the kind to come to this school."

It's not _entirely_ true. Some of those who Stumbled to their destinations or Stumbled back wouldn't have stood to face the Door of Thorns.

But Jehan and Combeferre and Courfeyrac didn't stumble. They _chose_ , and they will continue to choose. "Are you mad at us?"

"No." Valjean opens his eyes, a small smile gracing his face. "Just wishing you weren't what you are. Be _careful_ , though. Not everything that comes through a Door will be as easily dispatched as Thenardier. Usually if something wanders long enough it will either adapt to this world and lose its magic or die, but when they first come through—"

"Will it happen to us?" Courfeyrac doesn't usually interrupt someone, but he does now, his face pinched and tired.

(Enjolras and Cosette are awake, are Alive and Aware and Grateful. But Cosette can no longer pull Bahorel's shadow-wolf to him, and when Courfeyrac threw Conviction on the fire they built in the center of their room last night the flames stayed stubbornly red, and when Jehan pulled the glass dagger from its sheath for Combeferre to study it was in three pieces that Jehan tearfully buried in the garden at dawn...)

Valjean's shoulders rise in a brief shrug. "Fantine's still trying to work out if Eponine's spell will have any lasting effects. But most of us who have Traveled... we either return through our Doors, or adapt to this world, or..."

"We chose this world." Jehan holds out their hands, and Combeferre's falls into their left, Courfeyrac's into their right. "And we'll keep Choosing it. But we'll never, ever forget _why_ we've Chosen it, or the Doors that led us here."

"Perhaps you won't." Valjean leans back in his chair, studying them. "I... somewhat hope you won't, and that you can forge whatever it is you're looking to forge. In the meantime... if you could _please_ refrain from setting anything or anyone on fire for a few days, and also try to come get one of us if you think there's a crisis happening...?"

The three of them agree easily, and Valjean dismisses them to go back to their room.

Jehan continues to hold the others' hands as they walk, certain that no matter what comes, they will face it together— _forge_ it together, a world that is worthy of all they have learned and all they have lost.

Glancing at the faces of their companions, lovers, _Friends_ , Jehan has no doubt that they feel it, too, and all three of them are smiling as they walk towards the setting sun.


End file.
